


What Happened at the Pulsifer-Device Wedding

by ZephyrOfAllTrades



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anathema and Newt's wedding, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), F/M, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hijinks & Shenanigans, Male-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), OC is being a class A jerk, and needed to be pulled down a notch, but keeps he/him pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25121527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZephyrOfAllTrades/pseuds/ZephyrOfAllTrades
Summary: The tags say it all.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	What Happened at the Pulsifer-Device Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure drivel my brain coughed up and didn't want to leave my head until I vomited it all unto a page - or several.
> 
> No beta. All mistakes are mine. I let the story write itself.

How significant a piece of jewelry is, can only be answered by the person intending to use it. A simple hair clasp of golden vines a few hundred years ago may have meant status and great symbolism but could be construed as a crudely made Metalwork 101 project in the twenty-first century.

And yet, for the angel contemplating his wardrobe for a wedding, the clasp was a turning point in his decision. He had primarily laid out his usual beige and tan ensemble with his trusty tartan bow tie – sensible attire for Anathema and Newt’s wedding, he thought. But as he rummaged through his boxes of clothing seeking a waistcoat that had a decidedly less worn-out look, a box of barely used trinkets tumbled to the floor upending its contents.

And there lie the hair accessory he was turning over in his hand at the moment. Aziraphale wracked his brain for when he had last used it.

Greece, he decided.

He had procured it to pin down his once long curls. He had altered his corporation into a more feminine form to trail oracles, whispering divine guidance into their ears to impart to the masses. He had befriended many of the attendants and the oracles themselves. He had bought the clasp from the same artisan who would then craft his angel wings toga pin.

He traced the tiny leaves branching out from the center coils. Looking across the room to the old vanity in the corner, he espied his messy white-blonde hair. He squinted at his reflection then cocked his head. Slowly, the strands began lengthening, past his jaw and shoulders, then stretched lower, the curling tips kissing his waist.

He was hit by sudden nostalgia, remembering the antics of the other women on those darling spring days. His body slowly morphed into something softer, with certain areas plumper than the rest.

“Perhaps I could do with a bit of a change,” he said to himself. “Anathema would be ecstatic.” The witch had been disconcerted at first when faced with future events she had little knowledge of. But the girl had soon gotten accustomed to the delights of surprises and unpredictable circumstances (she had even laughed at the ridiculousness of her run-in with the Bentley on the day they first met).

He bent to rummage around his closet once more and held out the dress he knew would be the perfect pair to the hair clasp. He gave it a flap or two to fluff up the skirt. A little shimmer of ethereal power brought it back to its newly-bought condition. He found it in the late 1950s, enchanted with its sunshine yellow hue and the skirt’s quaint floral print at the hem. He wasn’t able to use it, of course, having no real reason to change his form just then. He hung it up behind his bedroom door and hid his pants and shirt. He unearthed sensible pumps and a lacy short-sleeved cardigan and settled them by the door as well.

Satisfied he began preparing for bed. Contrary to Crowley’s belief, he did sleep from time to time for the pleasure and for the knowledge that a good night’s sleep could rejuvenate him more than having to go back to Head Office to bask in the surrounding holiness. The last thought he had, as his eyes drifted close, was the fantasy of dancing at the reception, skirts and petticoats twirling in his wake.

The next day dawned bright and cheery. Perhaps he had expected the fine weather or some other divine intervention decided to bless Anathema and Newt’s wedding day. Either way he got himself ready with a bounce in his steps. He did his hair up in a half-bun like how Crowley had once done, fastening the clasp around the low knot. He left a few strands to frame his face, the rest falling in silken waves behind him. He had just miracled a cream purse to tote around when he heard the bell tinkle in the shop below and heard Crowley’s call.

“Coming!” he called back, stuffing the invitation and the trip to Paris tickets he’d be gifting to the would-be newlyweds into the bag.

He found Crowley leaning against the counter, phone in hand. He had on a suit and tie, perfectly fitted to his sinewy frame.

“Ready, dear!” he skipped forward.

The demon looked up and beheld the flouncing skirts and bouncing bosom. “A-angel?” he gulped.

“Yes, Crowley?” he smirked.

“Er… never seen you in that form before,” the demon scratched the back of his neck, mind going a mile a minute as he scanned his six-thousand years of memories.

“I’m not entirely certain I’m keeping it for long but I found this lovely hair clasp from a few years before we met to get oysters,” he twirled around, petticoats flying, to show off the golden accessory. “What do you think?” he looked over his shoulder grinning at the gaping demon.

“Y-Yep, uh, great. N-Nice,” any mental faculties that gave Crowley his smooth tongue had fled in the face of the flowing locks Aziraphale sported at that moment and the long lashes he fanned his way. “Suits you.”

“Oh, thank you. I didn’t think I’d be able to recreate your hairstyle from a few years back,” Aziraphale rambled on, facing him once more but swaying in place, clearly enjoying the moving fabrics. “Oh, shall we get a wiggle on then?” he snapped back to the present. “We do have a long drive to Tadfield.”

Jaw still unwilling to cooperate, Crowley just nodded, hoping the sound of the Bentley’s engine would distract him from his rosy-cheeked passenger. It didn’t. But the Bentley had trekked the London to Oxfordshire road a couple of times and was confidently driving itself towards their destination. The demon spent half the time gazing at the angel and the other half concentrating on keeping his blush (and other bodily reactions) from being too noticeable.

They reached Jasmin cottage with hours to spare as the angel had volunteered to help the bride dress for the occasion. He loved the love in weddings and was touched to be included in its preparation as a friend and not to enact heavenly influences.

When they reached the door, it took them a few knocks for someone to finally answer. It was one of the bridesmaids, looking harrowed and physically stressed out. But she waved them in with a genuine, though small, smile. They were instructed to leave their gifts on the table by the door and went to call Anathema.

The bride came out from the living room, rubbing her temples. “Hey gu-“ she stopped mid-step. “Aziraphale?” she gaped.

“Hello, my dear,” the angel replied, pleased that at the woman’s reaction.

Anathema ran up to the angel, squealing. “You look amazing! I never thought you could change corporeal forms like this, just animal forms, although I know I should have asked. I had to double check your aura! Does it take long? Or does it happen in, like, the blink of the eye like your normal miracles? Or perhaps – “

Crowley cleared his throat knowing full well the extent of the witch’s curiosity. He had spent an hour morphing into snake form for her studies. Usually he doesn’t mind but he could feel the unease from the living room she had just come from. Had he been a better demon, he would have relished the sensation. As it was, he had retired (and had never really been very good at his job, to be honest) and decided that _this_ wedding should be nothing but joyful.

“I feel like someone’s not too happy on your wedding day,” he paused. “Make that many someones,” he cocked his head in the direction she’d emerged from.

“Oh, yeah. That,” Anathema sighed.

“Did something happen, dear girl?”

“It’s nothing,” Crowley raised an eyebrow at her. She stuck out her tongue but continued, “The whole group had just met Newt’s best man. His personality was a bit of a handful,” she pouted. “Everyone’s on their second cup of tea now, trying to calm back down.”

“Oh, dear. How can I help?” Aziraphale offered, taking the bride’s hands in his. Anathema shook her head.

“We’ll be fine. I know I’m feeling better already,” the brunette smiled, then went rigid. “You’re doing this on purpose aren’t you?” she addressed the innocent looking angel in front of her.

“I found that my presence usually eases tempers,” he answered with a grin. “It works on Crowley, at least.”

The demon stammered, giving the angel a glare. The effect was soured by the flush blossoming on his cheeks. “Oi, I – “

“Ooh, that’s useful,” Anathema interrupted, getting her own evil eye from the tongue-tied serpent. “Would you like to meet the crew. There’s plenty of tea for everyone.”

“You do that,” the demon said distractedly. He knew the angel could calm anyone and anything if he set his mind to it, angelic being that he is. But it was always purely _Aziraphale’s_ specific presence that calmed him. The prospect of watching Aziraphale charm Anathema’s posse would have been a treat but it always gave him that tingly feeling of watching his angel doing what he loved doing best, not unlike the way he eats food, but less moaning – thankfully. “My presence might counteract his. So, I’m going out into the garden to check on my charges. I’ll make sure none of them wilt without my permission.” Crowley had been checking in on Anathema’s garden every time they visited and had planted most of the flowers lining the walkway and the hedges.

“Alright, I’ll look for you later then,” the angel shot over his shoulders as he followed Anathema to the living room.

The garden was a riot of colors, perfect for an intimate wedding venue. Newt’s mother had first volleyed the idea of a church wedding more than once, but with the number of witches on Anathema’s side and the lack of attendees on theirs, they finally decided that the garden was a sensible location. It was also a familiar enough setting that Newt would be less likely to lose his nerves before Anathema reached his side.

Satisfied, he took a seat on the old bench. The ceremony wouldn’t be for an hour or two more, so he settled himself for a good bask in the sun while he waited, purposefully trying (and failing) to think of the angel. He closed his eyes wondering how smooth Aziraphale’s hair would feel like if carded his fingers through them. At some point he fell asleep, mouth still held in a blissful curve. He was roused from his nap with a gentle hand shaking his shoulder and a sweet voice calling his name.

“Crowley, time to wake up, dear boy,” whispered the angel. He cracked an eye open to behold a literal cherub above him. Besides the bright dress, he had a golden glow shining behind his head.

“Halo…” he said sleepily.

“Hello to you too, dear,” Aziraphale’s smiled fondly at the demon.

“No… halo.. like um. Thing. Ugh. Still sleepy,” the demon mumbled, Aziraphale’s smile not helping him regain proper consciousness.

“Excuse me,” a man’s voice came from nearby. “You must be another of Anathema’s friends!”

Aziraphale looked up to find a nicely dressed man in a perfectly fitted suit, athletic build and slicked back dark hair. He smiled as if trying to show off every perfectly white tooth.

“Don’t worry about him,” he flapped his hand towards Crowley, the demon’s hackle’s rose at the tone, effectively waking him up. “He’s been there for a while now, if you’re going to waste your time on someone, why not find a more interesting guy.” _Like me_ , came the unspoken line.

“I beg your pardon?” the blonde huffed. “My friend is interesting enough, despite his current state.” It had taken Aziraphale months before he could finally call Crowley “friend” without squinting up at the sky or glaring at the ground. It melted Crowley to hear it every time.

“Well…” said Mr Toothy Prick, looking back at the sprawled form of the red-head on the bench. “I’d be glad to show you otherwise, but the bridesmaids have already lined up. Maybe I can squeeze a dance or two for you. Consider it an honor on your part,” the guy immediately turned his back to them and made his way to the more populated area of the garden.

“Well, that was a thing,” the angel murmured. It was a sign of his shock that he started quoting Crowley. From the attitude and the description of the Anathema’s friends in seemed he had met the best man.

“Jerkiest jerk I’ve ever had the chance to meet,” Crowley snarled, finally getting to his feet and willing wrinkles away from his suit.

“Hmm, quite. Anathema said the man had insulted her entire family on their eccentric clothing choices, smacked a few bottoms, and loudly guffawed at the thought that this whole wedding was _not_ a prank and Newt had actually found a woman willing enough to ‘shag’ him,” the angel shared leaning close to Crowley as they walked to where the other guests were. The red-head listened with rapt attention, knowing he could do nothing else but listen to Aziraphale’s voice.

Despite the best man being the wanker he was, the ceremony went off without a hitch and soon the bride and the groom’s lips were locked in their first ever kiss as husband and wife. The guests cheered and relocated themselves to the where the wedding lunch was spread about.

Crowley lingered at the edges of the festivities, gaze flicking to Aziraphale more than once, when his eyes fell on the Them. They were very well behaved all through out the morning, earning very little attention but the way their eyes were darting here and there had Crowley on the alert. He sauntered over to the trouble brigade and crouched along with them. If there would be chaos, he’d like to be a part of it.

The children stiffened until they realized who had joined their group. They gave the demon an acknowledging nod and went back to their plotting. Curious, and wanting to plan out his excuse to pacify a possibly scandalized angel, he asked who their target was. All four heads snapped to glare at the best man.

“He said girls can’t wear tuxedos,” Pepper snarled. She was in fact sporting one, sleek lines and fashionable bow tie and she wore it better than her friends. It was one of four, Anathema had commissioned the outfits for them, Aziraphale cooed over the bow tie, and Crowley slipped them a pair of sunglasses each to look more like miniature bodyguards than cute kids in formal wear.

“He said I broadcasted my ‘gayness’ when I volunteered to be flower boy and looked a proper ninny for it,” Wensleydale piped up, a gleam of malice in his usually friendly face. Pepper refused to follow the typical wedding entourage norm and declared she would be an usher like Brian. Wensleydale, fully supporting his friend took the role willingly and had agonized over the perfect petals-to-carpet ratio to make sure Anathema’s train would catch them as she walked down the aisle. As to gender, he said he was still unsure and would wait until he gets a proper crush on someone to decide.

“He said being an usher is useless since people can sit anywhere during the wedding,” Brian pouted, dropping his grudge into the hat when it was his turn. The kid took pride in his role, small party though it was. They had spent hours over the seating arrangements making sure that any lingering witch/witchfinder bitterness would not be unnecessarily brought up.

Crowley looked over at Adam and his barely concealed indignation. “He said I’m the most boring kid he’s known.” Crowley grimaced, now _that_ was a sore spot for the former Antichrist. “Didn’t even want to hear about the games I thought out or my book. And he said Dog as a ring bearer was stupid.”

The demon scratched his chin. “So…,” he said slowly. “What’s the plan?” His grin was mirrored by the four faces before him.

Too busy with their plotting, they didn’t notice Aziraphale meander towards them.

“You look busy,” he said with a small smile. Crowley noticed how he tugged the hem of his cardigan, seeing as he left the waistcoat in his closet.

“We – “ Wensleydale started, before being elbowed by Pepper.

“She can’t know yet.”

“He, please,” the angel said. “I’m not used to the pronoun changes yet. I’m afraid.”

Pepper nodded, rectifying her statement. The angel and demon had been surprised but altogether glad of the children’s open-mindedness and had tried their best at answering their many questions.

“I’m sorry for being a bother,” he said. “I just wanted to say they’re getting ready to cut the cake. Just in case you wanted to watch and get a slice.”

The children jumped up and ran over to the platform where indeed, Anathema and Newt were being photographed in front of a large three-tired cake. What bothered Crowley was Aziraphale didn’t look as enthusiastic as the others.

“Angel, are you alright?” he asked the blonde, looking more closely at him. He had always been pale but there was an ashen pallor to his usually rosy face.

“I’m fine, my dear,” he said, barely lifting the corners of his lips to form even the tiniest semblance of a smile. “It’s just that, I somehow found myself seated next to Gilbert and had to endure his ramblings for the last half hour,” he huffed.

“Gilbert?”

“The best man.”

“Shit.”

“Rather astute description, my dear,” the angel suddenly had a glass of scotch between his fingers.

“That bad?” He knew the man was a wanker, but to facilitate a hastily miracled shot of alcohol was a first – to the angel at least.

The blonde gave him a blank stare. “Tell me, dear boy,” he said with forced calm. “What you imagine Gabriel would have been like had he Fallen.”

Crowley had a very good imagination. He prided himself for it and had quickly conjured up the image. He shuddered.

“Exactly.”

Crowley wanted to apologize for not sharing the torment with him but knew he’d have blown a fuse, or the whole of Tadfield’s electrical connection if he’d been there. Instead he took the angel’s shoulders and guided him nearer to where the cake was being served. He downed the rest of the alcohol and accepted the distraction.

When the hubbub died down and music’s tempo started going up. Mrs. Pulsifer called for the bouquet toss. The women giggled as they lined themselves behind Anathema. Aziraphale had been pulled along. Two slices of wedding cake (his and Crowley’s) had settled his nerves and was happy to join in their little traditions.

Anathema gave them all a wicked grin before turning around and letting the bundle of flowers fly. Instead of rushing forwards, the angel took a step back laughing along with the others as they watched more than one woman stepping on their dress and falling to a heap on the soft grass. He raised his hands to clap in his enjoyment when he got a faceful of red roses instead. It took a minute for him to realise that he caught the bouquet. People cheered and congratulated, even the one who were still untangling themselves from the ground.

Crowley was grinning along with the rest until he heard a booming whoop from behind him. The best man was elbowing his seatmate with a loud, “It’ll be a challenge to get the garter to fit her!”

The red-head growled at the comment then cursed, remembering what was coming next. He hissed at Adam. “Tell you what kid, if you make sure Mr. Punchable over there doesn’t catch the garter, you and your friends can expect new bikes on Christmas.”

“Deal!” Adam ran to tell his friends and readied themselves at their stations as Newt and Anathema took their positions in the middle of the dance floor. He didn’t pay attention to the proceedings as he fixed his gaze on his quarry. The man stood up as the guests cheered a very red-faced Newt.

This time it was the men who came forward. The Sleazeball elbowed his way to the front. Earning him two feet of space on either side. The rest of the line-up didn’t look so keen to have him there. One of the groomsmen happily let the demon take his place next to the man.

When Newt gave the call to get ready, Crowley nodded over to Adam. He let Dog loose from where he had been tied. The hellhound shot forwards to run over the groomsmen’s shoes, lead trailing behind him. With a flick of his wrist, Crowley miracled Dog’s leash to wrap around Gilbert’s ankle.

The man was jerked to the side, the little dog being stronger than he seemed. He hopped once on his free foot, fell on his back and dragged towards the desserts table. Dog shot to the side before he reached it, the collar’s already stressed hook snapped free leaving Gilbert to stay on course. He went feet first under the table. Sprawled legs shooting to the other side, crotch rushing to meet one of the table legs.

Groaning, he grabbed the table cloth to try and ease himself away. It elicited a tug that sent the remaining wedding cake, chocolate fountain, cupcakes and various other sweets to tumble towards his exposed upper half. Brian ran to help him up.

Every eye had been trained on the spectacle, even Crowley’s. He was too invested to see Gilbert’s plight, grinning like the demon he is, that he was startled by the piece of lace falling to get snagged by the shell of his ears.

Aziraphale had just schooled his blushing cheeks and accepted his fate when he saw Crowley at the line of groomsmen. His heart fluttered at the demon’s intent at participating until he caught the almost imperceptible nod. He followed his line of sight just catching Dog’s release and Adam’s smirk. He had been seated next to Anathema at the front as Newt prepared to toss the garter skyward, giving him the best view of the chaos that followed. “Oh dear,” he whispered as his eyes shot towards the dessert table with an expectant Pepper and Wensleydale crouched beside it.

He winced as Gilbert crashed and bemoaned the treats he’d yet to sample fall into the dirt. His angelic sensibilities cried to ease the pain of the chocolate covered human, so, he waved his fingers at Gilbert’s direction. The boy and the girl hiding beneath the table, still clutching at the table cloth, stopped rubbing at the miraculously-not-there bumps on their heads where they knocked against each other as they dove in.

Aziraphale glanced guiltily at the groomsmen who took pity on sputtering Gilbert, getting themselves scratched as the man flailed about. He threw them a ‘pay raise’ blessing. The man kept cussing at his helpers, swearing they were being too rough on his expensive suit and ought to pay for every rip it got. Aziraphale discreetly added in a ‘wedding hook-up’ miracle. When Gilbert was finally upright, he told them off for being late at stopping the chair from falling over.

“Gilbert Thou-Shalt-Never-Hear-the-End-of-This Pulsifer!” Newt squeaked out, shocking the other man enough to stop his tirade. “You’ve gone too far!” the groom tried to project buff authority but unfortunately sounded more like his irate mother.

Newt marched closer. “You are not making my guests pay for your suit and you are going to stop annoying everyone during my wedding day,” his voice started weak but soon grew to a commanding tone. “You are here because your mum asked mine and because you used to be my best friend growing up and we promised to be each other’s best man,” he huffed out. “I don’t know when you started being a bully – maybe when you got better looking or when you started becoming popular – I certainly couldn’t tell. But from what I remember, the last few times we’ve seen each other, you were acting more and more like a prick,” the groom’s ears turned red but barreled on. “There I said it! I wanted to say it for who knows how long now but I knew you’d have acted worse if I did! Now if you won’t behave yourself, I suggest you start walking on home.”

By some unknown grace, Gilbert hung his head, shuffled out the gate and didn’t look back.

Anathema rushed towards her husband and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’m proud of you.”

“Oh, thank God!” Newt breathed out. “I was afraid I was being too harsh.”

“He deserved it.”

More and more of the guests came rushing towards Newt, patting his back and arms then swept the newlyweds to the dance floor. The celebrations went off marvelously after that.

**Author's Note:**

> Adam was the Bible bearer. XD
> 
> You might have other questions...
> 
> Which I have answers but the tone for that second half turned... smuttier, so I decided to stop this here.
> 
> If you'd like to see that other half, [here it is](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25181125).


End file.
